Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Okay,” said McLeod, “what do you want to do with BB, Jackson, Jason and the horses? Can’t leave them hanging back too far.”

“No, we can’t.”

Connor reached for the radio on his hip.

“Big Eye to BB you copy?”

“Copy, Big Eye.”

By prearranged code, Connor provided current position and detailed directions to the Hall of Fame.

“If shit goes bad, we’ll need you to meet up with us east of Cleveland, slightly south at… ah, just east of Youngstown.”

“Understood, Big Eye.”

“It’ll take ’bout seventy miles to get there. There’s a big steel mill there. Used to be. Check in at Furnace #1. We meet there as a final rendezvous if we get separated.”

“Understood, over.”

“It’s probably a good two or three days travel to get there. Maybe a bit less on horse, over.”

“Confirmed. Rendezvous in Youngstown, steel mill, Furnace # 1. Over.”

“Correct. I want some distance if things go south. We’ll wait five days once we get there. In the meantime, we’re keeping you as full reserve during our entry into the city. Big Eye out.”

“BB, copy and out.”

Connor turned to McLeod, who had raised an eyebrow in concern.

“What?”

“Okay, Mac. I think I know where Youngstown is, but why not closer? Why are we going seventy miles out for a primary rendezvous?”

“Dunno… feel we might need some space if things go wrong.”

“Man, that’s a lotta space. Don’t make much sense.”

“I know. It sounds a bit weird, McLeod, but trust me. It’s fitting in with my way of thinking right now, so I must be seeing something in the equation.”

“What, like subconsciously or are you saying you’re a damn psychic?”

“Nah. Nothing like that. It’s more like battle plans are drawn up in my head by some stranger and I see countless event flows that might, I say might, occur.”

“Like a sixth sense?”

“No, you’re the psychologist, haven’t you ever listened to your gut or subconscious?”

“All the time, Connor Mac.”

“Okay then, let’s call it that for now.”

“Will do.”

“In the meantime, the rest of the crew needs to run tight. Silent running. Full stealth.”

“I’ll remind them.”

“Make it real clear no mistakes or they’ll answer to the team for their failures… and it won’t be pretty.”

“Okay,” said McLeod. “Is it your plan to see this President Starkes tonight?”

“No, she wants us there tomorrow on the eighth. That’s when we show up.”

“You gonna go through with it?”

“What choice do I have, McLeod?”

“I dunno. Like I said before. Maybe you didn’t see the little leaflets, now did you?”

“Would you ignore it?”

“Nah. The whole thing seems strange is all.”

“Tell me about it. I can’t wait to meet this Starkes.”

“Yeah.”

“She’s invested heavily in resources and strategy to do this in today’s shattered world. That is, if a President of the United States still exists.”

“I dunno, Mac. Makes no sense that someone, some team, probably with at least one operating ’copter, would invest that much energy into finding you and not be the president or someone speaking for the president”

“I hear that. Does seem like an enormous commitment on their part. Damn, I wish I had more proof.”

“You know, it’s the same for the rest of the crew. They can’t wait to meet her.”

“Tell ’em we move from the factory to that three-story warehouse southeast of the Hall of Fame across Highway #2. We’ll do this at midnight on the nose . We’ll have Snuff and Surf Boy set up a recon post in the factory two hours prior. In the meantime, let’s see what we can discover from their scouting.”

“Alright.”

“Radio out and tell both of ’em to provide sit-rep status on the AO when feasible.”

“AO?”

“Sorry John. Area of Operation. Sometimes I forget you were a civilian.”

“Okay. Got it. Doing it now,” said McLeod.

“Big Eye, Surf Boy here, you copy?”

“I copy, go,” said Connor.

“The top floor, white-bricked, back section of the Hall of Fame is the CP for some well-organized military team, possibly POTUS, over,” whispered Marty across the radio. He swung his riflescope slowly to the left one more time before continuing.

“Roger that assessment. Over.”

“I see six men on the top floor of the glass pyramid structure entering and exiting an open door into the brick building. Well organized. Competent. Over.”

“Continue with your read, Surf Boy. Over.”

“Affirmative. And, if you can believe it, there’s a damn H-92 Superhawk on a circular platform next to the brick structure. A second floor causeway connects it. The Superhawk fits with what you suggested during strategy sessions. Has a definite payload, over.”

“Yeah? I like it. What else, over?”

“Well, I see the Presidential Seal on the side, big as day. We have Marine One over there. Over.”

“Flight ready?”

“It appears operational. And, what a pretty sight that ’copter is, over.”

“Roger that.”

“The bird itself is under heavy guard by five armed men that I can spot. Over.”

“Continue. What else? Over.”

“Three snipers in place atop the main roof structure attached to the pyramid. They’re definitely scoping the tactical area below, including this warehouse. Over.”

“Elevated surveillance?”

“Affirmative. Snuff and I had some difficulty setting up—only with some serious luck. Over.”

“Understood. Over.”

“I have a small problem to report here, over.”

“Go.”

“I… ah, slipped on a piece of metal and went down… hard. On my right knee, over.”

“You okay?”

“I’ll live. Provided Snuff quits with the laughing. The problem is, I think I bruised the kneecap or meniscus, something like that, over.”

“You mobile? Over.”

“Some. Swollen pretty bad, dammit! But, don’t worry. I can do what it takes, over.”

“Never in doubt, Surf Boy. Copy that.”

“Just wanted you to know it might take a second or so off my one hundred yard dash, over.”

“Understood. Would you suggest POTUS’s aggressive vigilance is elevated more than your typical experience? Over.”

“Affirmative. I’d say there’s a lot more men on guard than necessary for any standard security protocol. Over.”

“You think that’s POTUS waiting for us?”

“Present assessment leans in that direction, yeah. Over.”

“Understood. Anything else? Over.”

The communication went silent for a moment. Both sides considered the tactical status.

“Big Eye, it took an extra thirty minutes to settle in to our nest on the third floor here. We were delayed a half-hour! Don’t like it. The place over there’s too well guarded. Over.”

“Glad you’re extra cautious, over.”

“Not extra cautious… just had to use every trick I know not to get scoped by the roof snipers. They’re good. Excellent cross-coverage, overlapping. Don’t want a bullet in my back. Over.”

“Roger that. Switch to Beta.”

“Acknowledged.”

Connor switched to channel eleven as a standard precaution. In seconds, Marty picked up where he’d left off.

“I dunno, this seems big. Over.”

“Big? How so?”

“There’s a hyper vigilance hitting’ my gut hard, over.”

“Continue… extrapolate.”

“Seems, to me, like that team in the Hall of Fame, damn, maybe it is POTUS, might be expecting something tonight, maybe even from this warehouse. Over.”